


You'll Rebel To Anything

by Anonymous



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Also not a coffee shop AU even though that's where V starts out, Angst with a Happy Ending, But understand this is mostly a fic about the creator and fan relationship, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, I suppose this also counts as an everyone lives AU and everyone in the same time AU, Johnny is still Johnny, Johnny learning to slowly change his ways, Mostly it's V calling Johnny out on his shit, Not a modern AU, Samurai and music a part of this fic, Set in 2003-2023, Slow Burn, This is a fic exploring Samurai and their lore, V is a failed music writer, While also being about this AU version of V and Johnny loving each other, With a huge dash of romance and I love it, oh and Johnny calling V out because she's also wrong, that's what this is, who would have thought these two would be disasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: So there she was, penning an article about the lost glory of Samurai, notebook coffee stained and worn, pen pulled from behind her ear as she waited for another customer to walk in. Desperate for money, V made two choices she wasn’t proud of: moved in with Jackie and Misty, and got a job at a chain coffee shop. She needed eddies, and didn’t have enough saved to live on her own. Loved Jackie and Misty like family, and they loved her the same, but she felt horrible imposing herself on them. Didn’t even want to think about how terrible working at this coffee shop was, wrecking her body and soul. Compromising her anti-corpo stance just so she could eat.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Anonymous





	You'll Rebel To Anything

**Author's Note:**

> _I spent my high school career  
>  Spit on and shoved to agree  
> So I could watch all my heroes sell a car on TV  
> Bring out the old guillotine  
> We'll show 'em what we all mean_

“Johnny Silverhand: The Last Real Punk.”

Title of her article published in 2003 after following Samurai around Night City, from their first show at the Red Dirt, all the way to the Rainbow Cadenza. Inspired by their message, V abandoned all hope of becoming some corpo rat, pursuing her dream of becoming a music reporter. Fuck stability, she had passion and a message, just like Johnny Silverhand. Couldn’t make music, her only talent in life the ability to write worth a damn, so that’s what she did. Shit, she had Silverhand to thank for minor success, the article with his name attached earning her a spot at a magazine that discussed punk rock and its sub-genres. Wanted nothing more. V always had a soft spot for the genre, using it as the soundtrack to her teenage rebellion, and Samurai and its charismatic frontman roped her in. Just like it roped in every young kid on the scene in 2003. 

But that was two years ago, and the magazine she worked at dissolved six months after she was employed. Not surprising, it being run by a group of zit faced teens, herself included, but it was enough to put on a resume. Tried her hand at working for an actual news station, but that didn’t work out. Fired for a lack of creativity. Wasn’t true, she was creative, they just didn’t like what she wrote. Fine by her – still inspired by the Silverhand message, she soldiered on, self publishing her musings about Samurai and the other bands of the scene, even if Samurai became a shell of its former self. The music had the same message, but Johnny’s Porsche, Kerry’s increasing vanity, Denny and Henry’s drama, excessive and lavish parties, all told of the lie. Artists are delusional, so maybe Silverhand still believed in his message, but...To her, someone who followed them from the beginning, it didn’t seem that way. Those self published articles only got so much attention, getting backlash for ripping into the band instead of praising it. People saw them as the next big thing, and they weren’t wrong, but the message felt hollow. 

So there she was, penning an article about the lost glory of Samurai, notebook coffee stained and worn, pen pulled from behind her ear as she waited for another customer to walk in. Desperate for money, V made two choices she wasn’t proud of: moved in with Jackie and Misty, and got a job at a chain coffee shop. She needed eddies, and didn’t have enough saved to live on her own. Loved Jackie and Misty like family, and they loved her the same, but she felt horrible imposing herself on them. Didn’t even want to think about how terrible working at this coffee shop was, wrecking her body and soul. Compromising her anti-corpo stance just so she could eat. 

‘Blistering Love reached #1 on the charts and from there it was downhill. Taste of fame, eddies flowing into their pockets, and the band became like every other – full of themselves and,’ was all she got down on this page chronicling the band’s history, when she heard someone clear their throat, making V put the pen behind her ear and place on her best customer service smile. “Welcome to Night City Brews, what can I get...started...for...you...”

Fate, that cruel fucking wheel, spinning round and round like a god damn turnstile. Slamming closed her notebook, not wanting him to even chance a glance at it, V stood up straighter, if only because the sight of the guy made her blood boil. Should she have blamed him for her lot in life? No. But it was a hell of a lot easier than blaming her own youthful foolishness.

V expected some quip about his fame, or how she should be lucky to be serving Johnny Silverhand, but instead he just removed his aviators, looking hungover as hell, as he sized her up. “Do I fuckin’ know you?”

“If you’re askin’ if we slept together, the answer’s ‘no.’” Tapping on the display, she got everything ready to make an order. Reputation well known to her, she figured his mind immediately went to sex, and she sure as hell didn’t have it with him. Would have loved to back in the day, but damn she was glad she didn’t. “You gonna order somethin’ or are you gonna keep tryin’ to talk to me?”

“No – really. Do I know you? Look fuckin’ familiar as hell.” Why would he remember her from all the interviews they had together? Just another face in the crowd, a way for him to climb to the top. “But get me the biggest thing of black coffee this shit shop can offer.”

“Aye aye.” Inputting the order, V got to work making the coffee. “And so you don’t keep thinkin’ on this before you blast your brain with drugs, I used to write music articles. Gave you your first interview, if what you told me back then was correct. Used to talk to you a lot, actually. Biggest seller for the magazine I worked for. But that was two years ago.” Coffee poured in the biggest cup they offered, she passed it to him on the counter, customer service smile still on her face. “Here’s your order Mr. Silverhand. Have a nice day!” Hated that voice she had to put on, but there she was. Another way to play pretend to get by in this hell.

But he didn’t leave, and V kept having to serve customers while he tried to talk to her. “Real name ain’t V, right? Jus’ somethin’ that starts with V.”

“Ooo, retained some intelligence I see. Drugs ain’t got ya that bad?” Machine fired up, she heard him hum, not really able to defend that remark. She knew that. “No one calls me by my real name,” coffee spilled on her hand, she hissed, pulling it to her, a napkin shoved her way by the man himself. Taking it, she wiped off her hand, giving the next person their order.

“Why the fuck are you workin’ here? From the way you chased us down a couple years back, I figured I’d be seein’ your ass when we played in Moscow or in fuckin’ Bangkok. Shoulda gone somewhere – done somethin’ with your talent. What made you give up the dream?” Aviators back on, sipping his chain coffee, with his name brand leather jacket, shittily modded to have his band’s logo on it, and she wondered if he caught the irony of it all. When had he given up the dream?

“Unlike you, not everyone can live their dream. Not all of us make it big by havin’ some dorphed up producer stumble upon them at a show. I have shit luck. So I’m here ‘cause I have to be.” Another order made, she missed most of what Silverhand was saying, lost in the commotion of being the only one on shift at the moment.

“Don’t have be anywhere – just fuckin’ put your shit out there.” Clicking her teeth, she was getting sick of him hanging around for whatever reason. She had work, he was being a nuisance, and he was missing the goddamn point like she said he was in her articles. But no, she’s just a disenfranchised hater, apparently. “Someone’ll pick it up and you’ll have your big break.”

“Rootin’ for the little guy again? Nice to see. What’s that line? Oh yeah, ‘Hear the wish of the oppressed/To at least get to be oppressed in style’? Well, I’m being oppressed in style, choom. Place is nicely decorated. Got your wish there. Because, again, unlike you, not everyone can live their dream. What am I supposed to do while I sit around and wait for someone to find me?” Customers cleared out, Silverhand having finished his coffee, he ordered another that V quickly poured for him. “And you – why are you here?”

“I’ve always been rootin’ for the little guy, you cunt.” Shaking his cup, eyebrows raised over his shades, he acted like that was a sufficient answer for why he was there. “If you’re wonderin’ why I’m stickin’ around, maybe seein’ you was like a blast from the past. Wanted to check up, see if you were just here coverin’ for a friend or if you actually spun out. See it’s the latter.” Another sip, V organizing supplies behind the counter, and he clearly wasn’t done negging her. “Gotta ask – why some corp place? You always seemed the type to wanna work in some hippie place that serves locally sourced produce.”

She didn’t feel like rehashing her whole two year history to this guy, pretentious enough to think she spun out instead of getting kneecapped by capitalism run amok. “’Cause, you see that place across the street,” pointing towards the giant windows, across the way was a small mom and pop coffee shop, “I wanted to work there. They couldn’t hire me. Why? ‘Cause people choose this place over theirs. Didn’t have the funds to take on another person. And unlike you, Silverhand, I needed a job. Had to compromise my morals to ya know, eat! Pay fuckin’ rent! And you bein’ in here instead of somewhere like that place shows how little you actually believe in your ideals.”

Leaning over the counter as a challenge, she waited for Silverhand to argue back, see if he would even defend himself. Instead, she was hit with a rather loud, “You’re the biggest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever met. Go fuck yourself! See this is why you washed out and I didn’t – got more brains than you’ve ever had!” Middle finger raised to her, and he turned to storm out the door, and V hoped it would be the last time she saw him.

Realistically, for a while, it was. Saw him going into that place across the street more often, earning them a reputation for serving Johnny Silverhand his coffee, boosting their business. A couple years went by, V moved from job to job, she and Jackie taking on becoming mercs in Night City to earn some scratch here and there, and V was doing well for herself.

Then fate came back again, that horrid fucking wheel, and Johnny Silverhand was back in her life. Hired for a gig. And she had to put up with his stupid ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm keeping this fic anon because I'm working on a ton of stuff at the moment, this is something entirely for me, and I don't want it attached to my main account. I'll update this fic every now and then, but know there's no real schedule. Thank you for understanding!


End file.
